


Puppets and String

by Nothing Is Impossible to Ship (jaquisin)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:09:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaquisin/pseuds/Nothing%20Is%20Impossible%20to%20Ship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Brother says must always be true.<br/>What Brother says must always be right.<br/>For you see, Brother understands what's best.<br/>I know that, but... </p><p>Ever since that troll appeared, I've been thinking...</p><p>Maybe there is something Brother is wrong about. </p><p>Maybe he's wrong about me. </p><p> </p><p>Inspired by a random tumblr post about "what if Dave called Bro 'Brother.'" Somehow it turned into... this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. David=> Meet the Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Because there can never just be one project.

You still remember. 

It's fall and the leaves are bright. You're running through the woods, feet bare, breathing in rotting leaves and dying summer breezes. Your hair is being tugged at by branches, your cloths are littered with crushed leaves, dirt smudges your cheeks, and you are happy. Your little fingers poke the earth and dig up fat worms, and you laugh because the world is bigger than you can understand and you love it. 

Branches crackle, twigs snap. You look around curiously, and he stands over you, face blank. You don't understand. He never makes noise. He is always silent, you never hear him coming. You don't understand. 

He stretches your arms out to you, and you- slowly, cautiously, dread is climbing up your throat and you can't breath- hug him. He is big and tall and strong and always has been. He kneels down to your level, wraps you up close to his chest, and clutches at your hair. You realize that he is shaking. Your hair becomes damp. 

You have never seen him cry, but you have felt it. That very moment, your world shattered. 

"They're gone, Dave. They're gone."

And you know something is very wrong because he never calls you Dave. He is crying into your hair and he is calling you Dave and you're scared and you cry and hold on tightly to his shirt and don't understand. 

He stands up and his eyes are dry and he is big and tall and strong again. It is as though nothing has happened, and yet at the same time you feel that your world has broken and that he is no longer the same, though he seems even more himself than usual. 

You will never forget.

***

From the moment you meet, you hate him.

He steps through the door and the first thing you notice is his hair. It's a wild, tangled mess, sticking out in all directions. Here and there a flattish surface suggests that he may have attempted to comb it, but to no avail. You bite back your distaste, and turn back to your book, treating him with the same airy disdain you use on all the other hired staff. 

He is looking around nervously, and you can't help but watch him through the corner of your eye. Brother is late once again, and it is clearly agitating the new hand. He is looking in your direction, clearly poised to ask a question, when the door to the study opens, causing him to jump in surprise. 

Brother gestures to him, and he scuttles into the study, twisting his hat in his hands. 

His skin is grey, and you look up quickly before the door closes behind him. You're not sure why this surprises you. He is not the first of _that sort_ to be hired onto the staff of Strider Manor, and you doubt he'll be the last. None the less, you find your curiosity piqued. He seems different, somehow. 

You shrug your shoulders and turn back to your book. He doesn't cross your mind again until the study door reopens, and Brother escorts him out. You look up and right yourself from your sprawling position on the couch. 

"David, this is Karkat Vantas." Brother delivers his words flatly, as though they hold no real interest to him, "He will be your personal attendant from this day forth." 

"What for?" you look him up and down, this time not concealing your disapproval. 

"I'll be in and out of the manor more often these next few months, and I thought you might require... entertainment." 

It may just be your imagination, but it seems that the boy flinches at his words. 

You settle back into your relaxed position with a mutter of disinterest. Brother takes this as a sign of some sort of agreement, and orders the boy to stay with you. He then takes his leave, vanishing out the same door as the boy had initially entered. 

Several moments of silence pass, punctuated only by the rustle of pages. The boy stands nervously at your side, still fidgeting with his hat.

"Why are your horns so small?" 

He squeaks in surprise at the sound of your voice, then a scowl crosses his face. 

"They just are." he retorts. You sit back up, startled by his hostile tone. 

"I just wanted to know. I've never seen someone like you with such nubby little horns." 

His scowl deepens, and he pulls his hat onto his head. 

"Better, your majesty?" he utters sarcastically, and you feel a strange pang of anger. Placing the book down on the arm of the couch, you stand up and grab his arm. 

"You'd better learn to speak with more respect," you growl, twisting his arm. He growls right back, snapping his teeth at you, and your anger flares. You push him away, and he trips, falling to the ground. His strangled cry and the way he holds his arm informs you that he has scraped himself on the coffee table, and you lean forward eagerly. More than anything, the blood of the various staff intrigues you. 

A smile curls across your face as candy red blood trickles between the boy's fingers. He snarls at the look on your face, and launches himself at you. 

The two of you fall into a tangled mess of pounding fists and garbled curse words. Although he fights hard, it soon becomes apparent that you will be the winner of this little tussle. You pin him to the ground, one fist hovering above him.

"Why don't you just quit now?" you inquire, "It'll save you a lot of trouble down the road." 

He pants heavily, trying to catch his breath, then replies, acid in his tone. 

"I can't." 

You look down at him, and your anger dies just as quickly as it arose. You stand up, rearrange your hair, and retrieve your book. 

"Ask anyone. I'm really not worth whatever it is you have going on." you say, and leave the room, closing the door behind you. Outside, you pause to listen to him groaning as he stands up.

He won't last a week, you decide, and stride off towards your room to tend to your wounds.


	2. Karkat=> Hate the Stupid Human

"Fuck."

You swear under your breath, breath hissing through your teeth. Blood is running down your wrists. You hastily do your best to lick away the offending liquid, grimacing as the salty, metallic taste coats your tongue. Your cheeks are flushed, and your heart still burns with fury. You can't get the image of that stupid human's grin out of your head. The way he had looked at you when he saw your blood... like you were nothing. 

With a groan, you stand up, bruises already blooming on your skin. You seem to have stopped bleeding, and as long as no one looks too closely, you should be able to keep your secret for a bit longer. You hunch your shoulders and step outside. After asking for directions from a passing maid, you head to the room of your new master. 

You don't want to do this. You really don't want to do this. 

But the voices of your memories push your feet forward, and you stand outside his door, arms crossed against your chest. You close your eyes, breathing deeply.

***

You wish you could forget.

You are young, and your mind is full of dreams. You chase him through the woods, waving your little toy sickle and shouting battle cries. He giggles and capers, his face sloppily smudged with white paint, honking his little horn. He is your world, the closest you have to understanding a brother. You catch him and hug him tight and roll around, laughing and butting each other with your horns. You are young. Nothing can hurt you. 

With a snap and a crackle, the cage shuts, the trap springs. Through the bars, his eyes are soft, his smile serene. He is bleeding, and you are crying, and he's whispering- "It's okay, Karbro. Jus' all up and chill. It'll be okay..."- and you want to go get help, but you don't want to leave him alone. 

It's getting dark, and things are moving in the trees, and the wind is whispering your name and he's whispering incoherently and... you... fall asleep.

You wake up, bleary eyed, and think you hear him sobbing, but that can't be. He is always smiling and calm and he will never cry so you dismiss it as a dream and fall back asleep. 

The hand you hold is still and cool and for a moment you think he is dead and you continue to cry and cry and he won't wake up and you don't understand how all this could happen when he coughs and stirs and smiles. You clutch his hand and clutch the bars of the cage and you cry more because he's pale and cold but he's still smiling at you like an idiot.

Day and night and day and night and you never go more than a few feet from him, picking berries from the bushes and feeding him through the bars and you can tell that both of you are dying but you don't know the way home anymore. He tells you to go, because it's okay, but you cry more. 

They tell you it's only been two days when you're sitting in the big white room and he's all covered in tubes. It had felt like weeks and weeks and years of watching him pool purple blood beneath his feet and listening to him sob in the darkness. The hornless people in the white clothes tell you that he's okay, he's okay, but when you look at him, his face cleaned of paint, his eyes closed, you don't believe them. When he is wheeled out, his eyes unfocused, you don't believe them. When you touch the useless stump that remains after they discovered that the leg could not be saved, you don't believe them. 

It's your fault, and your heart aches to think about it. 

You will never forget.

***

You knock gently on the door, and hear a muffled command to enter. Pushing your burning feelings down, you open the door and step in. He is sitting at a desk, staring out the window, apparently in the midst of typing something on his computer.

"You're still here?" 

His voice is scathing, and you fight the urge to hit him again. You need this. You need this badly. 

"I'm sorry." The words drop from your tongue and you try your hardest to mean them, but you simply can't. Your eyes burn holes in the carpet. 

"What are you apologizing for?" The chair creaks as the master stands, his bare feet pad across the carpet, "It's weird. Don't do that."

You look up at him, confused. Before you can form a question, he speaks. 

"I don't like people. I especially don't like _your_ kind of people." your cheeks flush red again, and your anger is rising, "But you're interesting. Brother is always right, after all. I imagine you must have some redeeming feature."

He moves as though he is going to pat you on the shoulder, then thinks better of it and turns away.

"You can sleep on the cot in the corner over there," he says, gesturing, "I can provide some storage space, if you have anything to store." He is back at his desk, lounging in his chair like the king of the world. 

"Is that all, your majesty?" you can't help yourself. His demeanor makes you want to lash out at him. You see anger flash through his eyes, then cool. 

"Yes, one other thing." a grim smile appears on his face, "What happens in this room, stays in this room. If anything in here leaks out, it will be on your head. It'll make our little introduction in the library earlier seem like a cuddle on the puppet pile if I find out you tattled." 

You return his grim smile. 

"As you wish, your majesty." 

Your whole body flares with fierce hatred, but you swallow it. You must do this. You have no other choice.


	3. David=> Engage in the Illest of Illegal Contraband

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Dave, less Karkat. Don't worry, character relations coming your way in approximately two chapters including this one. Rap lyrics from here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTfUWYOEons slightly modified~

Brother does not approve.

It's summer. You beg and beg and at last Brother takes you to town to buy a soda and some ice cream. He holds your hand tightly to keep you from wandering off, but you tug against him, wanting to look at everything. 

Down the street, you hear sounds. It's a sort of... you can't think of the word. Your body rocks with the sound, and you find yourself slipping out of Brother's grasp to investigate. You hear him shouting as you take off, but the music already has you.

_Music_

You couldn't tell from across the street, but it is music. It's fast and rhythmic and seems to flow around you as the duo of street performers throw around words in ways you didn't know were possible. You nod along to the beat, loosing yourself in the stream. One of the performers takes notice of you, and tosses a smile your way. Your heart lifts. He gestures for you to come closer. 

"What's your name, kid?" he asks. 

"David." you respond shyly, feeling the eyes of the crowd on your neck. 

"David, huh?" he grins, "You like what you hear?" 

You nod, feeling a smile tug at your face. 

"Howsabout you give it a try, then?" the performer nods to his companion, who starts a beat, "Go on, Dave, don't be shy." 

You listen to the beat for a moment, tapping your little feet, then, just as easily as breathing, the words come to you.

_"Welcome to the DeLorean's side seat_  
About to head back, put on your headphones please  
Cooked up some beats I rapped on with ease  
Now I'm on the roof relaxing, enjoying the summer breeze 

_Strider clan in the building making heads burst_  
Just a kid from Texas out here trying to be first  
Grip and sip this apple juice to quench thirsts  
Though I'm thorough in my search to create and write the perfect verse 

_Hands down a master of all crafts_  
And I'm making these rap ruffians turn daft  
I'm a simply suave motherpuppet cutting high class  
Crashing into parties bursting kids into ash 

_After party, thrash hard, stay gnarly_  
Sorry kid but you're hardly in our league  
Let 'em know I got cash, stacking Jade Harley's  
Rap professor, that's Mr.Strider darling 

_Yo, I throw out the big guns_  
As a sword lord, I swing to cut cords  
I'm the definition of fear for the competition  
And my style's a little Messi cause my raps are straight kickin' 

_Sweet and swift, though I spare no gifts_  
Giving critical hits and splitting up ships  
For some boonbucks, I'll give you rookies a tip  
Till then I'm leaving nose blood drips on your girlfriends lips" 

You aren't really sure where the words come from, or what a good deal of them mean. They spill from your mind and into the open air and you can't seem to make them stop, nor do you really care to try. You are dimly aware of the crowd around you, but, even more than before, you have become lost in the sound. 

You are about to let loose another torrent of words when a voice cuts through your mind like a sword. 

"David."

The crowd instantly goes silent. Brother is standing before you, his face ever emotionless. Your heart drops just as quickly as it had arisen before, and you begin to fumble for words. He extends his hand to you, and you silently take it, allowing him to lead you away from the performers. Before you go more than a few steps, however, one of the performers calls out. 

"Hey, man. Kid's got talent. He could go far like that."

Brother turns to look at the performer, and he shrinks back. With a less-than-gentle tug, you are pulled away again. 

The talking-to you receive later that night still burns in your mind. 

Brother does not approve.

***

You're lounging at your desk, laptop open, spring breezes stirring your curtains. Brother is gone for the day, and you've sent the boy out to do some menial task, leaving you alone to do your own thing. In this case, "your own thing" involves rooting through your drawers to find a little hidden treasure you had bought secretly some time ago.

You slide the little square of plastic out from beneath a pile of loose paper. It's a cd case, the words "Universe Frog" are printed on the glossy cover of the booklet contained within. You pop the case open with a shiver of delight, and insert it into your laptop. Several clicks later, and your mind is gone. 

Ever since that day years ago, you've been in love with rap. Despite Brother's strong words on the few occasions when he's caught you, you continue to hone in your skills. Though you could never quite articulate why, the way the music flows intrigues you. Your house is usually devoid of music, aside from the rare parties that Brother allows to be hosted. Even then, the music is dry and emotionless, scraped out by a tired looking orchestra who seem hell bent on absorbing life from their listeners. 

Not so with rap. It contains depth and emotion far beyond anything you know possible. Currently you have been focused on studying the style of the group Universe Frog, who mix almost religious poetry about life in general in with their beats. Somehow, the words and the rhythm couple together flawlessly. 

As the music runs about you, you scroll through one of your favorite forums, an entire site dedicated to decoding the layers of language present in Universe Frog's songs. Several of your internet companions are lurking around the chat room, but you aren't particularly interested in speaking to them at the moment. 

None the less, one of them messages you privately mere moments after your appearance. You minimize your browser and open the private chat. 

\--terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]--

TC: HeY tHeRe, BrO

TC: hOnK :o)

TC: dOn'T pReTeNd YoU'rE nOt ThErE

TC: i CaN sEe YoU

TC: hOnK hOnK hOnK :o)

TG: hey, TC, what's up?

TC: jUsT aLl Up AnD mEt WiTh A pAl Of MiNe.

TC: HiS nAmE iS...

TC: sHiT, bRo, I fOrGoT.

TC: )o:

TG: it's cool. I'm guessing you just saw the doc, huh?

TC: yOu KnOw It, BrO. 

TC: gOt ThE cHoIcEsT oF cHoIcE eLiXeRs.

TC: BeTtEr ThAn ThE sWeEtEsT oF fAyGo FrOm ThE gOds

TC: I cAn'T eVeN fEeL mY tOeS

TC: hOnK hOnK hOnK :o)

TG: that's nice, bro. Look, I gotta go now. I've got shit to do. 

TC: oH, i HaD sOmEtHiNg I wAnTeD to TelL yOu...

TC: BuT i FoRgOt ThAt ToO...

TG: don't worry about it. You can tell me later. 

TG: Either way, I really gotta go. 

TG: Talk to ya later. 

\--turntechGodhead [TG] has ceased pestering terminallyCapricious [TC]--

You close out of the chat client and check the "offline" button beside your name. In truth, you haven't got anything really important to tend to. More than anything, really, you were simply looking for an excuse to stop talking. 

When you first met TC online, he had seemed like a really cool guy. You listened to all the same stuff, and came to the same conclusions about many of the same topics on the forums. The fact that he wasn't human didn't really matter, what with the computer screen separating you from really seeing him. However, as time passed, you began to notice that his interest in Universe Frog had made a subtle shift from interest to full on religious fervor. It was fine in the beginning, but now...

Your thoughts are cut off by a knocking at the door. You instantly silence the music, then pause for a moment to still your pounding heart. If it had been Brother, he would already be inside the room. Telling yourself this, you stand up to answer the door. 

The boy ( _Karkat_ you think for a moment, but it doesn't stick) is standing there, arms laden with bags. 

"I got all your stuff." he says curtly, and spills them at your feet. He then steps over the mess and makes his way over to his cot, leaving you to deal with the mess. For a moment you consider ordering him to pick it up, but think better of it. After all, it wouldn't be in your favor if he chose to spill a little of what he'd bought for you to another staff member. 

You pick up the bags and return to your desk, then set about the task of carefully laying each item out. A pair of high quality head phones, a microphone, a webcam, and several other such technological items are soon strewn about. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the boy watching you with mild curiosity. 

"Remember what I said." you warn, and he looks away. 

It's been a little under a month since he moved in, and only now is he starting to obey some of your rules. It took a lot of kicking and scratching to get where you are now, and you know that it'll take a lot more before either of you are able to occupy the same space without hitting each other at least once. None the less, he has become more pleasant, if only a little bit. 

You have completed your little layout, and now move on to hooking up your new system of electronics up. In a matter of minutes, you have a small station set up, perfect for creating your own beats and airing them online. With a crack of your knuckles and sharp glance towards the boy's cot, you begin. 

In the eyes of your Brother, this is more than breaking the law. This is direct defiance of his authority. 

Just thinking about it makes you grin devilishly.


	4. Karkat=> Take a Day Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watching Syfy at the same time as I wrote this. Sorry if it seems off for whatever reason. Also, I can't write Gamzee. sorry D:

You close the door, sealing in the music. You figured out long ago that you absolutely mustn't speak of what went on in that room. The beats that rocked your cot, the lyrics that ran around, seeking escape, running through wires and into the digital world, the way the master changed when his Brother was gone... none of it could pass your lips, not even a hint. 

You tug your hat down over your eyes and zip up your jacket, then set off down the hallway. You have to admit (though grudgingly) that the master does have some talent. He has skills beyond what you had thought possible, which is saying something indeed. It doesn't make you like him any better, but at the very least, you approve. 

You step outside. The air is unseasonably chilly, and you lower your chin against the brisk wind. A gravel walkway winds before you, leading down to the gates of Strider Manor, and you crunch down it, the last song the master had been working on thumping in your head. 

"Karkat!" 

A voice sounds, startling you. You turn your head slightly to the left, and are greeted by the warm smile of your coworker and old friend, Kanaya Maryam. She's a troll like you, although she seems to get along much better with humans. Her position in the Manor is as head gardener, a job which she does extraordinarily well. She skims your attire, and you see a flicker of what might be concern cross her face. 

"You're going to visit him again." it's a statement, not a question. You nod mutely. 

"Karkat, you know-" 

"I'm going to miss my bus." you turn away, continuing your walk. 

"It's not your fault." her voice is soft. Her hand alights on your shoulder, and you flinch away from the contact. 

You tilt your chin even further down.

***

It's all your fault.

You sit beside his bed as he speaks in rhymes and rhythms and taps a beat with his foot. His face is painted, white against his ashy skin, and his hand rests near yours. You lace your fingers through his, and he rewards you with a sharp-toothed smile. His eyes are heavy lidded, the image of warm nights and sleepy afternoons. He is your world, and he is broken. 

"Just experienced a motherfuckin' miracle like you wouldn't believe, Karbro." his voice is powdery and soft, and you know he's just had another dose of painkillers, "Miracle like you wouldn't believe." 

"What's that?" you ask. You feel as though you know the answer, but allow him to speak anyways. 

"Some rich motherfucker started payin' my bills for me. Pretty sweet, huh?" his smile is genuine, and you feel your heart squeeze painfully. 

"That's pretty sweet indeed." you reply. 

When you return home that night, you sit down at your table and sort through your mail. Among the usual crap is a hospital bill. You wince at the number, but pay anyways. You have no choice. You have no choice because without you, he wouldn't have anyone to take care of him. He wouldn't have anyone to pay for his physical therapy, or his frequent check-ups, or the medication that you're beginning to suspect he no longer really needs. You have been told time and time again that you hold no responsibility for him. It's not for you to take care of. Leave it to the system, leave him to himself. 

But you remember the snap of the trap, the sobs in the night, the bitter taste of bile in your throat when you thought he had died time and time again. Those days and nights that had seemed to stretch on for eternity, where your mind told you to run for your life, but your heart would not let you despite it all. Your heart which twists painfully at his every smile, his every word. 

If he knew, he would tell you to stop, to care for yourself, to leave things be. And if he told you to, you know you would. You would leave him behind if he told you to. 

So you won't tell him. You won't tell him who has been paying his bills, and getting his prescriptions, and keeping him safe from the traditionalists who still believe in culling the weak and helpless. Because he is your world. 

Because it's all your fault.

***

The bus rocks and jumps at every bump and break in the road, and your thoughts spin and swirl each time, gathering together only to be strewn apart moments later. You worry at your fingernails, realize what you are doing, stop in disgust, then worry at them again.

He's joined a religion. 

That's not too bad in most circumstances. Your religious beliefs lie between absolute zero and hell no, but that doesn't mean that his must as well. However, this religion unnerves you in ways you aren't sure how to express. The Dark Carnival, the Universe Frog... when he speaks of them, his eyes glow, his grip on your hand tightens. He becomes more animated than he has ever been since the accident. But at the same time, you can feel a darkness growing. While he finds lightness in this new world or miracles, your heart grows heavy with dread. 

Even more pressing of an issue, you have noticed that his prescription has increased since he began this religious fervor. The one time you pressed him about it, he offered up some bullshit response about releasing his mind for the Mirthful Messiahs or something. Despite this, you don't have it in you to cut him off. His dosage increases, and a gap between you widens. 

As you step into his apartment, he greets you with a smile, and, once again, your heart twists inside your chest. He's sprawled on the couch, his good leg slung up onto the back, his stump bare. A bottle of painkillers rests on the coffee table beside him, and even from here, you can tell it's already half empty. 

"Hey, bro." 

You plop down across from him on the couch, focusing on his smile and not on the bottle or the stump or the heaviness in your chest. 

"Have you moved at all since I was last here?" you ask, and he shoots a reply that you don't really listen to. Your voice has all it's usual sarcasm and anger, a mask to your true emotions. His is still just as soft and songy as it always has been, and you love the sound of it as you drop into your usual banter. Everything is alright. He's still alive and warm and present, and he doesn't see how worried you are. 

But despite your outward appearance, worry still gnaws at you. His voice is too thick, his eyelids too heavy. He's drifting into his usual shpeel about his religion, about the people he talks to online, about this and that. You try not to encourage it, but at the same time, you don't want to discourage him either. You feel yourself being torn in two. You want to help him. You must help him. 

"How's work goin'?" you're shocked out of your thoughts, and it takes you a moment to realize that he's asked a question. 

"It's... alright." you respond, just barely reigning back your bitterness. 

"Heard you were workin' for some uppity motherfucker in the country. That true?" his voice is light, but you can't help but feel that he's... digging for something. 

"That's true. I'm the little-Strider's personal bitch." this time the bitter note escapes. Gamzee leans forward and places a hand on your ankle. Unlike with Kanaya, you don't flinch away. 

"If it's really so motherfuckin' bad, why don't you quit? I hate to see my bro unhappy." he seems to genuine, so caring. You reach out and take his hand. 

"It pays well." you force cheer into your voice, "And it's really not that bad. I run errands. I make sure his royal fuckery eats. It comes with free boarding, so I don't have to pay for an apartment anymore. I don't mind, really." you throw in an unconvincing smile, and he leans back, slipping his fingers away from yours. That single, simple motion adds to the dread you already feel. 

"As long as you're okay with it." he smiles. You stretch your fingers for a moment, hoping to regain the familiar contact, but it soon becomes obvious that he has no plans of obliging, and you lean back. 

Your world is slowly crumbling away, leaving you with nothing. You wish with all your heart that it would stop. Just for awhile, you want it to stop.


	5. David=> Deny Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave has feelings and stuff. Things get a bit shippy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL FINISH THIS LATER BROS
> 
> Aaaanyways...
> 
>  
> 
> What? What do you mean I 'haven't updated in awhile'? Silly readers *shifty eyes* 
> 
> Anyways, summer breaks started, muse is back, should be all good~ I hope.

You don't want to get out of bed today. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your torso is a mottled mess of bruises and you think there might be a bite mark on your shoulder. An involuntary groan escapes your throat, and you hear a barely suppressed chuckle from across the room. Instantly, you sit up, eyes flashing, shooting daggers at the boy. You attempt to take some satisfaction at the collection of bruises he, too, sports, but fail miserably. 

The stupid thing is you can't even remember how the fight started. One moment you're leaning over your turn tables, the next you're flat on your back, and he's leaning over you, fist raised, chest heaving, lips parted almost invitingly-

You're pulled from your thoughts by a towel to the face. The boy is grinning bitterly at you. 

"Enjoying the view, fuckmuffin?" he asks, and you realize you've been staring. You grumble incoherently and stand, muscles twinging, then stalk past your room mate to the bathroom. 

The shower spurts to life, and you hiss as water pounds upon your bruises. Through the misted glass and steam you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and _fuck_ he really did bite you. You fume silently, beginning to plan your revenge as you absently rub the bite mark. However, your thoughts drift, and soon you're back in your memory, contemplating that snarling, sharp-toothed mouth hovering above you, and-

There is a pounding at the door, and the boy ( _Karkat, Karkat, Karkat,_ you chant to your self, _Karkat_ ) is shouting at you to get out, he has shit to do. You turn off the water and step out, wrapping a towel around your waist. Outside, Karkat is still pounding and swearing. You grip the doorknob and shove outwards, smiling at the small _'oof'_ the troll makes as he falls to the ground. You step over him and make your way to the dresser. 

"All yours, princess," you tease. He slings a few obscure insults at you and takes his turn in the shower. Presently the water springs back into action, and you set about dressing yourself. As you hunt down another sock, you find your thoughts turning again and again to the troll in the shower. You bite your lip and put it down to that weird hentai shit TC sent you late last night. A few hours of sick beats and junk food should fix things. You find a sock and slide your shades on just as the bathroom door opens once again. Safe behind your reflective eye gear you steal glances at Karkat from your position at your desk. 

His hair is tousled in a half-hearted attempt at drying it, fluffing up in some places and clinging to his skin in others. Water still runs down his torso, vanishing into-

You pull open a bag of chips and turn back to your computer, popping open the browser to see who's online. Currently there is only TC, but he seems to be otherwise engaged, as he doesn't instantly pounce upon you. 

"That doesn't count as breakfast," Karkat snaps. He's already dressed in a fluffy turtleneck and a pair of worn jeans. You think he looks a bit like a homeless person. 

"Alright, mom," you quip, shoving a handful of chips into your mouth. Karkat's face flushes angrily, and you suppress a smirk. 

"I'll be right back," the troll mumbles, and stomps out of the room. You watch him go, then set the chips aside. He's awfully cute when he's flustered, and for a moment you imagine-

Nothing. You don't imagine anything. You open up your iTunes and click on the first song you see, attempting to loose yourself in the music. However, even in the swaying, thumping world of rap you can't seem to escape. You run through each of your recent arguments with Karkat and absently wonder why he seems so insistent on staying. Maybe it's because he-

"Food." Karkat slides you a tray of oatmeal and fruit. You mutter a thanks, but can't help but feel irritated. He seems hell bent on interrupting your thoughts today (although that might be for the best). You pick at your food with little interest.


End file.
